


Come a Little Closer

by LadyNimrodel



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Like, M/M, Rimming, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNimrodel/pseuds/LadyNimrodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy helps Harry sleep</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come a Little Closer

**Author's Note:**

> A really fantastic blog I follow on tumblr, venvephe, posted something about Eggsy rimming Harry and I had to write it. Because it's hot like burning. Enjoy!

Eggsy can tell right away that Harry is tired as soon as he comes in the door. 

His shoulders, usually straight and upright, droop a little bit and the lines around his eyes are a little more pronounced. He is still as put together as he always is, not a hair out of place nor a single wrinkle in his bespoke suit. But Eggsy still knows. That he’s here means he’s okay, uninjured, but it must have been a difficult mission this time. These days, they always take a harder toll on Harry than they used to. When he went to Merlin about it, because Harry really shouldn’t be in the field so much (not after that, after nearly dying because he’d been shot in the head), he’d gotten a knowing, sympathetic look. 

“Aye, I know,” Merlin agreed, “and usually Arthur doesn’t spend much time in the field. But we’re still down five knights and have only just started the recruitment process for Belvedere. A few more months and we can ease up,” he doesn’t remind Eggsy that the world is worse off now, three months after V-day, than it ever was before but he doesn’t need to. Eggsy knows. 

Still, he worries about Harry. 

“Didn’t expect you back ’til tomorrow afternoon,” Eggsy says as he walks over to take Harry’s jacket from him when he shrugs it off in a tired, jerky motion. Harry is never so graceless and concern spikes sharply in his chest. 

“The mark got sloppy,” Harry murmurs by way of explanation and reached out to touch Eggsy’s cheek as he passes, making his way directly to the liquor cabinet in the dining room. Eggsy watches him from the doorway, clutching at the jacket in his arms and biting his lip. He wants to do something for Harry. Wants to ease the tension from his shoulders and smooth the lines of strain beside his lips and eyes. Instead he can only stand by helplessly and watch Harry pour himself a generous glass of whisky and down it in two painful swallows. 

He winces in sympathy. 

“Harry, you look like shit,” he says softly, after Harry pours another three fingers and takes a more sedate sip. He tips the glass at Eggsy in acknowledgment. 

“As you say,” and his dark eyes flash with self deprecating amusement.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Eggsy returns sharply because it’s only been a few weeks since Harry was given the all clear after waking up. A month in a coma, a month recovering. Fuck, when he thinks about how close he came to losing Harry, how fucking close…

“Eggsy,” Harry has this way of saying his name, of saying a million things in two tiny syllables and it never fails to illicit a response. This time it’s defensiveness. 

“No, I know. Shortage of agents an’ all tha’,” he holds up his free hand, though the one holding the jacket is surely wrinkling the material. Oh-fucking-well, “I get it, Harry, I do. But fuck tha’, when you come back lookin’ like you been thrown out of a plane with no shoot,” this gets him a wry grin. 

“You know, I’ve done that before,” Harry says half-seriously and Eggsy can’t help but snort. Of course he has. 

“You’ll have to tell me about that sometime,” he laughs because it sounds terrifying and amazing and Eggsy knows that by the time Harry finishes telling the tale, he’ll be even more stupidly in love with the man. Which is always what happens when Harry tells him about previous missions. 

“I can tell you about it now,” Harry offers and Egssy recognizes a stalling tactic when he hears one. 

“You should sleep, Harry. Seriously,” he says it because no one else will. No matter how good friends Harry and Merlin may be, Merlin clearly has stopped trying to nag Harry about his well being a long time ago. He still does it to Eggsy and Roxy because they are new recruits and he can. And, well, Merlin usually has sound advice. And everyone else is too busy, too wrapped up in trying to keep the world from busting apart at the seams. Sometimes, it seems a hopeless job. So it is left to Eggsy to care about Harry. To make sure he eats enough and gets enough sleep, that he takes antibiotics when he gets wounded and has someone to rub out any sore muscles. 

Eggsy will do all of that and more. Anything Harry needs. 

“I don’t think I can sleep right now, Eggsy,” Harry murmurs, voice rough with something more than just exhaustion and the light goes on in Eggsy’s mind. Ah. 

It was one of those missions. 

They’ve all had them. The kind of missions that leave you hollow and drained and so fucking tired they can barely walk but the very idea of sleep is terrifying. Because blood still lingers under fingernails, the memory of death still fresh, still looming, and adrenaline still burns in their veins. Eggsy knows the feeling well. How many times has Harry brought him down from that, gently washed his hands in the sink, undressed him with kind, nimble fingers, kissed him and brought him to a different kind of peak so that when he comes down, the mission is easier to tuck into the back of his mind. Enough to sleep, anyway. 

Eggsy knows at once what Harry needs tonight. 

“A shower then,” he decides, voice brooking no arguments. It is telling how tired Harry is that he just tips his head in acknowledgment and lets Eggsy tow him up to the master bedroom. 

In his head, he thinks about it as their bedroom, as they’ve been sharing since Harry was able to come home. Sure, Eggsy has his own house and his own bedroom. A really nice one too, at the very top of the house so his mum and Daisy have their own floor. But he’s spent so little time in it since acquiring it, what with missions and spending the rest of his waking hours at Harry’s bedside, before and after he woke up, that it doesn’t feel like his. Coming home with Harry and moving into his bedroom just felt like a perfectly natural progression. 

Like this was the only logical step they could take. 

Perhaps it is, after Eggsy blurted out how stupid he is for Harry not week after he woke up and how watching him get shot in the head (“Dead, I thought you were dead”) nearly killed him. To him, coming home with the man and sharing a room with him is the next, natural step. 

So he leads Harry into the connecting bathroom, a monstrous thing, with clean white tile and a great clawfoot tub, and props him up against the counter. Dark eyes follow him around the bathroom as he turns on the taps in the tub, making it hot enough to steam, and fetches towels from the closet by the door. Harry never moves to help, just watches with a gaze as intense as a firestorm. This whole thing is new enough that the intensity of that gaze unnerves Eggsy a little bit and he is glad for the rushing sound of water filling the space. A sketch of an idea is slowly coming to him, a plan, a map of where he’s going to put his hands on Harry and when. Anticipation makes him flush but he approaches Harry with as much confidence as he can muster, taking in the dark smudges under Harry’s eyes and the way he hasn’t bothered to straighten himself from where he’s slumped against the doorway. 

He only speaks up when Eggsy reaches for the buckles on his gun holster. 

“You don’t have to,” to which Eggsy snorts because, from where he’s standing, Harry looks about ready to fall over. 

“Yeah but I want to. And you want me to,” he gives Harry a cheeky grin and gets an arched eyebrow for an answer. The intense gaze flickers away from his face when he puts the holster down on the side of the sink and starts in on the buttons of the crisp dress shirt. He can feel, as he nimbly flicks each button loose from their slots, the hardness of muscle under his knuckles and the heat of skin through the expensive fabric. For a moment, he lets his fingers linger on Harry’s belly, counts his breaths, tells himself Harry is here. It is so easy to convince himself he’s just dreaming, that he’s going to wake up one day and realize the bullet didn’t glance off Harry’s glasses but did what Valentine intended it to do. 

Then a warm hand touches his fingers and he can breathe again, can pull Harry’s shirt free from his trousers. 

“I read your mission report on the plane,” Harry says casually as Eggsy slides off his soft undershirt and starts in on his belt buckle. Usually they keep shop talk at headquarters but now he appreciates the break in silence. 

“I know what you’re going to say, Harry,” he hedges, pausing as he pulls the belt out of the trouser loops and looks up into Harry’s face, “Merlin’s already said it,” this time the single lifted eyebrow is accompanied by gentle, calloused fingers touching his cheek and the corner of his lips. He turns his head enough to kiss at them and hums when one sneaks into the corner of his mouth. Harry’s skin tastes salty and metallic. 

“I am not speaking to you as Arthur. What you did yesterday was reckless and could have gotten you killed. But…” he taps his fingers against Eggsy’s mouth when he tries to protest and his eyes are gentle, “I know why you did it. I’m saying that I’m proud of you.” Mouth dry, Eggsy swallows and nods. His last mission did end messily but when there’s the life of a child involved, well. Like Harry said, he would have done the same. 

“Not going to tell me not to do it again?” he teases, grinning and Harry just shakes his head. 

“As if that would work,” he says with a small, tired laugh and Eggsy hates it. He hates how worn down Harry looks, how he continues to use the wall to keep himself upright, how his hand eventually slides away, dropping listlessly back to his side. Determined now, Eggsy turns his attention back to getting Harry’s clothes off. 

He opens Harry’s trouser flies and touches as much of his thighs as he slides them down slim hips, crouching as he does so. It is sensual, the touches, warm skin and wiry hair giving under his palms. He loves Harry’s thighs; lean and strong, perfect for sucking on. Once Harry obligingly lifts each foot so Eggsy can push his trousers off to the side, he leans in to lick at the skin right below the edge of his pants. And then he is caught by the taste of skin and sweat and licks again and again, using his fingers to push the leg of Harry’s pants out of the way. Fingers touch his hair, brushes it off his forehead and sweeping around the back of his head. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to be quite disappointed tonight, my dear boy,” Harry says, voice full of regret. Eggsy glances up at him, noting that, no, Harry hasn’t hardened even a little in his pants. But he knew that was likely so he smiles and makes quick work of the rest of Harry’s clothes. 

“It’s fine, Harry. I just like touchin’ ya,” he murmurs against Harry’s chest, breathing him in before stepping back. 

Harry is truly a marvel, all long, lean limbs, elegance wrapped in steel strength. While Eggsy adores his thighs, he also can’t get enough of the sharp edges of his hips and the subtle curve of his belly and the strength of his hands and arms. He admires all this and more for a moment, taking all of him in before starting in on his own clothes. 

“Eggsy…” Harry begins but Eggsy just shakes his head and smiles. 

“I know. ’s’all right,” he reaches out, curls his fingers through Harry’s and pulls him off the wall to guide him into the tub. 

From there, it’s almost too easy. Harry goes willingly enough, exhaustion making him malleable and willing. He eases into the bathtub where Eggsy turns the shower head on and stands under the steaming spray for long minutes with his eyes closed. As Eggsy watches, Harry slowly come back to himself, first moving to push his wet hair off his face and then turning to face Eggsy, who is still waiting outside the tub. Admiring the way the water flows over Harry’s body. 

“Are you joining me, then?” Harry asks, voice warm. His skin is flushed from the heat of the water and he looks fucking gorgeous. Aware that he is more than a little hard himself, Eggsy lets Harry guide him into the tub and swish the shower curtain closed around them. 

At once the space becomes close, intimate. He takes his time, running his fingers over wet muscle and the hard plains of bone. Water dampens his own skin, drips into his face and flattens his hair and he enjoys the heated way Harry watches him, leaning into each of Eggsy’s caresses like he’s starving for them. Otherwise, though, he remains still, pliable and unruffled. It’s so unlike Harry, usually always an elegant economy of grace and demanding touches, that Eggsy takes advantage of it. Kisses everywhere his lips can reach without crouching down, tasting clean water and skin. Licks into the hollow of Harry’s neck, sucks on his nipples, lifts Harry’s arms out to the side so he can bury his nose under his arms. 

Harry makes a small noise when he does that, a rough sound deep in his throat. 

“Like that, do you?” Eggsy murmurs against his skin and shivers when a strong hand curls into his hair. He catches a glimpse of Harry’s face before he’s yanked forward into a brilliant, scathing kiss; eyes glittering and dangerous, face still and intense. And then he’s groaning into Harry’s mouth, open and fierce on his own. Water leaks between their lips and changes the taste, making everything slick and soft. When they finally break apart, Eggsy is hot and shaky, arousal a slow burn in his gut. 

“You are incorrigible,” Harry grumbles, though he’s too tired to follow it up. Eggsy laughs. 

“Wouldn’t have me any other way, would’ja?” he murmurs against the corner of Harry’s mouth and grins when that earns him a bite on his lower lip. Then he dances away, grinning, naked, and hard, appreciating the way those intense dark eyes watch him. 

“Maybe,” Harry says with a quirk of his lips as Eggsy grabs the soap and a washcloth, “Maybe I just like you for your body,” to which Eggsy rolls his eyes and glances pointedly at Harry’s soft cock. 

“Yer a terrible liar, mate,” he swirls soap over the cloth in his hands and encourages Harry to shuffle out of the shower spray so he can start rubbing the soapy cloth over Harry’s shoulders and arms. 

“I am actually a terrific liar,” is the reply, said in a slow, sedate voice, syrupy as Eggsy moves the soapy cloth over Harry’s chest and down his belly. He keeps the strokes matter-of-fact, not intended to seduce but to clean. Harry falls quiet as Eggsy washes his thighs his calves, his ankles. When he comes back up, he slides his hands and cloth between Harry’s legs, gently rubbing down his cock, his balls, and the place behind them. Harry is quiet through it, though he agreeably widens his stance, strong thighs flexing with the movement. It’s lovely sight and goddamn but he’s turned on. But though he gives Harry a few long, hopeful strokes, Harry just lifts one shoulder and gives him a tired smile, “Sorry, Eggsy.”

“Nah, Harry,” he straightens, kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth and then sidles around so he can wash Harry’s back. He doesn’t mind, either. As horny as he is, he can touch without taking, can look without needing, can love without demanding. When he touches Harry, it is with purpose and no expectations. Even when he slides soapy fingers between inviting arse cheeks and pays close attention to the furrow of his hole, he keeps it as clinical as he knows how. Despite how his fingers shake slightly and his heart pounds and the soft, low sound Harry makes shoots right to his cock. 

Eggsy has to take a step back, breathe deeply for a moment and directs Harry under the spray to rinse the soap off. Harry watches him closely until the water washes over his face. Then he just closes his eyes and tips his head back. 

For a moment, Eggsy forgets to breathe. 

Because he’s never met anyone as gorgeous as Harry. But it’s more than that. It’s the trust Harry displays, how he lets Eggsy into his personal space, closes his eyes even though Eggsy has his hands all over him, can kill him in the blink of an eye. Not that Eggsy would of course. Never Harry. Sometimes he lays back in the darkness with Harry asleep next to him and thinks he would rather die then let Harry be hurt. The sentiment strikes him now, as he watches water drip from darkened eyelashes and the ends of Harry’s hair. 

The rest of the shower goes quickly. Eggsy shampoos Harry’s hair as he sits on the side of the tub, massaging his fingers into Harry’s scalp for as long as he can get away with. When Harry reaches up, curls his fingers around his erection (and yeah, okay, it’s kinda right there), Eggsy firmly pushes his hand away, ignoring the way the touch sends a flicker of pleasure burning through him. 

“Seriously, bruv, or I won’t be able to stop,” Harry stares up at him for a long moment, looking a little silly with his hair all trussed up with soap, then relaxes back onto his perch with not a word. His eyes are soft, though, dark with affection and they make Eggsy feel all hot and squirmy inside. With a great deal of self control, he urges Harry to stand and wash his hair out, soaping himself up in record time so they are both shiny and clean by the time he turns the taps off. 

They dry themselves off in silence, Eggsy unable to keep his gaze from Harry’s hands on the fluffy white towel or the shape of his hips when he wraps the towel around them. 

Christ, he’s fucking stupid over this man. 

He lets Harry wander back into the bedroom and slide the towel off so he can rub lazily at his hair (and fuck if those curls beginning at the back of his neck aren’t the sexiest thing). But when he goes to his dresser to pick out one of his prim pajamas, Egssy stops him with a hand on his back and a shake of his head. 

“Eggsy, I told you…”

“Let me take care of ya, Harry, a’right?” and after a moment, staring at Eggsy who is still bare and damp from the shower, Harry nods and lets himself be led to the bed. 

Harry is all long limbs, fuck his legs go on forever, as he settles on the sheets, only hesitating minutely when Eggsy touches his shoulder and whispers, “On your stomach.” And Eggsy is fucking blown away because Harry goes willingly, stretched out on the bed like a fucking god. He stares for a long moment, mouth dry and heart in his throat. When Harry slides his arms under a pillow and turns his head so he’s looking back over his shoulder, Eggsy is lost. 

“Christ,” he breathes, climbing onto the bed so he’s straddling the backs of Harry’s thighs. It is novel, being with Harry like this; he could do just about anything and Harry would probably let him. Swallowing the heat that beats through his blood, Eggsy runs his hands down, over shoulder blades and the ropy muscles on either side of Harry’s spine. He traces a long scar that wraps low around Harry’s ribs and kisses a silvery, star shaped pucker from a bullet. Then he can’t stop tasting, breathing in the scent of soap and skin as he leaves trails all along Harry’s shoulders. He is still making himself familiar with every way Harry can smell and he adds freshly-showered to the list of times just pressing his nose to Harry’s skin makes his head spin. 

Eggsy doesn’t realize he is slowly rocking his hips so his cock rubs against the curve of Harry’s arse until a growled, “Eggsy,” breaks him out of his trace. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, not sorry at all, especially when he breath touches the spots he’s kissed and makes Harry tense briefly under him. Interesting, he thinks. Again he drags his tongue over skin, around the nob where spine meets neck and blows on the wet patch he leaves behind. Harry’s moan is soft but unmistakable. 

Oh, Eggsy thinks. Oh. 

With a grin, Eggsy sits back on his heels and looks down on the lean, muscled shoulders and the back of Harry’s head, which is halfway dry and curly. He runs one hand through the soft curls thoughtfully, winds them around his fingers, lets Harry relax back into the bed. And then he slides down Harrys body and licks into the dimples above Harry’s arse. There is another sound, a grunt or a sigh, or both maybe, and Eggsy thinks it’s hot as fuck. Harry is usually reserved when they fuck. Oh, Eggsy can tell he’s burning for it because he looks at Eggsy in that single-focus, laser-like way he has. But he makes very little noise, only responding to Eggsy’s curses and bitten off moans with soft grunts that sound completely involuntary. 

Which is still sexy as hell but when Harry makes that little noise, the one that sounds like he just can’t help himself, Eggsy wants to do everything and anything to make him do it again. 

With deliberate movements, Eggsy rearranges himself between Harry’s knees and gently pushes his legs open. Gently enough that Harry can refuse if he wants to and Eggsy won’t press the issue. But Harry sighs into the pillow and lets it happen, his back flexing enough to press his hips into the bed. 

And that’s hot too. 

But what really gets him, what really makes his belly tighten and his balls ache, is the space between Harry’s arse cheeks, shadowed and inviting and there for the taking. He riles Harry up, dragging his fingernails along the insides of his thighs, licking at the crease where legs meet arse, nipping at the round muscle of his arse itself. That last makes Harry twitch, head turning restlessly to the side where his curls spill over the white pillowcase. 

Fucking hell. 

And Eggsy can’t just tease anymore. He knows, by the tiny flex of Harry’s hips, the arousal is there, as it had not been in the shower. So he pushes Harry’s left knee out and up and sucks at the top of his crack for a moment. As much as he wants it, he won’t do it without consent. Of course, Harry could crush his windpipe between his knees if he felt so inclined but he would like to avoid that. So he gives Harry every indication and every opportunity to stop him. He just licks at the insides of Harry’s thighs and teases the underside of his balls and waits to be pushed away. 

Harry doesn’t stop him.

Instead he spreads the leg Eggsy isn’t holding wider and makes a sharp, hitching noise that is not completely caught by the pillow. The sight of him, giving himself up, makes Eggsy crazy. Without thought, he licks up from Harry’s balls to the base of his spine and groans at the resulting muffled shout. 

Fuck, he thinks, wild, fuckfuckfuck. Harry is going to be loud about this and that is just about the hottest thing he’s ever encountered. He buries himself between Harry’s legs and sets to work, licking and sucking around his hole. Every time he passes over it, Harry lets out a grinding moan and hitches his hips back into Eggsy’s mouth. He tastes clean, like soap and shower water and something uniquely Harry. He wonders, as he fits his mouth over the small furrow and sucks, how much has Harry wanted this? If the delicious curving of his spine and tilt of his hips is any indication, probably quite a long time. He wonders if Harry even knew he did want it so badly. Which, of course, only makes it better. 

Carefully, slowly, Eggsy works his tongue into Harry, kissing the skin around his hole in between presses of his tongue. As he does, he eases Harry’s hips up, just enough, so he can rub his fingers over Harry’s full cock. 

“Bloody fucking hell!” the exclamation is loud enough that he can make out the words through the pillow. Then his tongue is inside, eager and slick, and Harry is moaning and rutting back against him like he’s being paid for it. Just like that, with Eggsy’s hand on his cock and his tongue in his arse, Harry’s gentlemanly reserve comes crumbling down. Completely and utterly. 

He moves with each one of Eggsy’s licks, spearing himself backwards into it. Then he rolled his hips forward into the hand around his cock, dripping shamelessly onto the sheets. Eggsy licks into him again and again, fucking him with his tongue, and drinks in every breathless moan and gasping breath not swallowed by the pillow Harry has his face buried in. His jaw is beginning to ache and there is drool sliding down his chin but nothing short of Harry coming is going to stop him now. Not when Harry’s knees keep sliding restlessly against the bed and his voice shatters and gutters, like waves against sharp rock. 

The end comes faster than Eggsy expects. 

And what a glorious finish it is too. 

Harry sucks a deep breath, cock wet in Eggsy’s hand and arsehole fluttering and tensing around Eggsy’s tongue and then he goes very still. Shaking as he hovers on the edge. Unrelenting, Eggsy slides one finger of his free hand in alongside his tongue and crooks it against Harry’s prostate, rubbing his other palm around the head of Harry’s cock. 

This earns him another lovely shout and then a long, drawn-out moan as Harry gives in, spilling wetly over fingers and sheets. Eggsy lifts his head in time to see the end of it, the flex of the muscles in Harry’s back and the way his toes curl into the sheets. It takes him several long moments for him to come down, gasping into his pillow and legs sprawled tantalizingly open. His arse is slick from Eggsy’s mouth, his hole pink and dripping. 

Finally Harry relaxes, wrung out and boneless, with a small, satisfied sound that spears right through Eggsy. 

He presses his forehead against Harry’s thigh and curls his damp hand (wet with Harry’s cum, holy fuck) around his own cock, stripping it brutally. Now that he is no longer determined to wring pleasure from Harry’s body, the arousal that has been heating his belly is suddenly sharp, immediate. With the memory of Harry’s moans and shouts still ringing in his ears, he comes fast and hard, entire body shaking with it. His teeth ache with the sounds he keeps trapped behind them and his shoulders tremble with the perfect agony of it. 

When he is no longer gasping for breath, he slides back up Harry’s body, curling around him and pressing his nose to Harry’s smooth cheek. 

“Fucking Christ, Eggsy,” Harry mutters, eyelids heavy when he glances through the riot of his curls. Lazily, Eggsy slides his fingers into a few of the ringlets and presses an affectionate kiss to Harry’s hair. 

“Thought you was asleep already,” Harry smiles wearily and his eyes fall closed again. He looks…peaceful now. Still tired, yes, but less like he has a heavy burden weighing down on his shoulders, trying to press him into the earth. 

“Will be,” is the slurred answer and Eggsy smiles as he watches Harry tip forward into slumber, as easily as breathing. He waits until Harry is well and truly asleep then slides off the bed. First he pads back to the bathroom and cleans himself up. He would do the same for Harry but then he recalls the dark circles under his eyes that he came home with and the way he could barely stand upright in the shower and he figures it best not to wake him again. He’ll have his fun messing him up further tomorrow before cleaning him up. Then Eggsy slips back downstairs, air cool against his naked skin, to pick up his glasses that he keeps well away from the bedroom. 

“Merlin? You there?” he murmurs as soon as he activates the comms, voice hollow in the empty kitchen. 

“Rather late, Eggsy,” is the instant reply, “What is it?” 

“Harry’s not coming in until tomorrow afternoon, yeah?” he says, voice sharp with determination, “Came home looking like death tonight,” there’s a long pause and then a longer sigh. 

“Aye, alright. We can spare him until then,” Eggsy grits his teeth. 

“Damn right, you can,” and closes the coms. Merlin will no doubt have a thing or two to say about that but he doesn’t care. Harry may be Arthur but he’s also human. And he was, not all that long ago, shot in the head and in a coma for a month. Eggsy will tear the world down, if that means Harry can get some damn sleep. 

Silently, he makes his way back to the bedroom, glasses discarded on the kitchen table and slides as carefully into the bed beside Harry as he can. But he needn’t have worried; Harry remains as still as a log, breathing even and deep. He is beautiful like this, relaxed in sleep. All of the tension bled from his muscles and spine a supine curve. Eggsy admires him, the strength hidden in his limbs, the soft curls loose all about his face. He is beautiful as Harry, not the killer, not as Arthur, not as the perfect gentleman. He is beautiful because he is all of those things at once and so much more too. 

Eggsy presses a smile into Harry’s shoulder as he pulls the sheets over them and curls again into his side. Heat from Harry’s skin leaks into his own, a gentle ebb of fire and Eggsy falls into a bottomless abyss of warm contentment, joining Harry in sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, you all welcomed me so kindly into this fandom with my last fic, thank you so so soooo much


End file.
